


proceed with what you're leading me to do

by silverfoxflower



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Chikan, Dubious Consent, Groping, Light Bondage, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sexual Fantasy, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:47:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28921566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverfoxflower/pseuds/silverfoxflower
Summary: Somewhere down the line, Jaskier figures, one of his ancestors tupped a Fae, and now that trickle of queer blood is running through is veins, giving him one of the most aggravating abilities known to man.Since he was young, Jaskier has always felt … impressions.Someone is thinking of him lewdly and Jaskier feels it like the soft petting of fingers on his skin, tracing the lines of his ribs, rubbing against his nipples and making him squirm.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 22
Kudos: 669





	proceed with what you're leading me to do

Somewhere down the line, Jaskier figures, one of his ancestors tupped a Fae, and now that trickle of queer blood is running through is veins, giving him one of the most aggravating abilities known to man.

Since he was young, Jaskier has always felt … impressions of how others think of him. 

The closer they stand, the stronger and clearer these impressions are. If the person is very familiar to him, he can even feel their thoughts like a physical sensation on his body.

(It made for a strange upbringing, to be sure, especially when he was young and thought that it was how everyone perceived the world. He had frightened away more than one nurse by publicly announcing her mute fury, her secret longing for a child, her internal comparisons of him to a yapping toy poodle.)

(Eventually he learns that no one wants to know that he knows, so he settles for being considered exceptionally intuitive, if a little self-centered)

It is how he knows, before she even realizes it herself, that the Countess du Stael’s interest is waning, and she is turning her eye to another.

(A sour mouth. A hollow belly.)

It is why he avoids Lettenhove, and the disappointment of his parents, like the plague.

(A shiver of disgust down his spine so violent it makes his teeth chatter.) 

Not to say his gift, if one could call it that, is entirely useless. When women look upon him with interest, he can feel the warmth, and gravitate towards like a moth to flame. It has helped him pick out sharps and cheaters at gwent, and even saved his life on a few occasions, when he felt the ill intensions of the men surrounding him. 

Then he meets Geralt. 

In a room full of disgust and disregard, Geralt is: nothing. Incredibly, inescapably null. It is an _oasis_ to Jaskier, and he finds himself scrambling to follow the man, hungry for peace.

Yes, he can see that Geralt doesn’t like him. At least, not yet. 

What matters is that he cannot _feel_ it.

–

Someone is thinking of him lewdly. 

Jaskier feels it like the soft petting of fingers on his skin, tracing the lines of his ribs, rubbing against his nipples and making him squirm. 

He looks immediately at Geralt, but that … can’t be. He glances in turn at the others in the room. An Elder Priestess of Melitele who is giving a rather round-about explanation of whatever they suspect is lurking in the ruins outside the temple, and two younger Sisters standing mutely at her side. The prettier of the two, the blonde, flicks her eyes up to meet Jaskier’s gaze. And blushes. 

_Someone might be a little frustrated with their vows_ , Jaskier thinks, suppressing a laugh. “I think … ah, if you’ll excuse me,” he says, sliding from his seat. The Elder Priestess stops talking but Geralt just grunts, looking bored as his arms remain crossed over his chest. 

The sensation abates as he exits the room, confirming his suspicion. The arousal is a thrill, but a minor one. His heartbeat is back to normal when Geralt meets him outside the temple.

“Just found myself missing my best girl,” Jaskier says, to explain his hasty departure. He reaches his hand up to pet Roach, who snaps at him. 

Geralt grunts, amused. 

–

In the middle of a performance, of all places.

Jaskier’s breath catches on the second syllable of _plenty,_ nearly squeaking as he feels a warm palm sweep across his chest. 

“… oh v-valley of plenty, _oh_ -” Jaskier swallows, shuddering as the invisible hand pets lower, tickling the soft hair on his belly, to touch his cock. 

Melitele’s tits, but it’s not even a firm grip as much as a _tease_. A fingertip running up and down his length, making him fill in his trousers.

His tight trousers. The center of the tavern. 

Jaskier squeaks his way through the rest of the song as he feels his ass groped and squeezed, his nape nibbled playfully and his nipples pinched. 

For once, he is thankful that most of the tavern is too far in their drink to appreciate his performance. Including Geralt, who looks up only when Jaskier rushes past him, red-faced.

“A little pitchy tonight,” Geralt murmurs, his eyebrows raised. 

“Yes. Thanks,” Jaskier snaps, intent on reaching their inn room as fast as his wobbly legs can carry him. He realizes, distantly, that he never paused to pick up the smatter of coins tossed for his performance, but the thought of bending over in his already straining trousers …

He shuts the door behind him and leans against it, groaning as he tears at the fastening of his pants. 

His cock. It’s full to bursting. Whoever was thinking of him has stopped, or perhaps he’s just out of their vicinity now, so the arousal coursing through his veins is all his own. Jaskier nearly sobs when he finally gets a hand on himself, his belt jingling at his knees and his smalls pushed halfway down his thighs as he jerks himself to a rough completion.

–

Geralt looks dubious. 

“You remember the … ah, strange power I told you about?” Jaskier fiddles with the tuning pegs of his lute. What was he doing with this again? Cleaning it? Restringing it? 

“Impressions of thoughts people have of you,” Geralt grunts, catching Jaskier’s eye. “But not from me.” 

“Right,” Jaskier says nervously. “That was … that was why I rushed out tonight.” 

A flicker of concern crosses Geralt’s expression. “Are you in some trouble?” he asks quietly. 

“No!” Jaskier replies, “Well, not … not the kind you’re thinking of.”

An ardent admirer? It had felt the same at the temple, though that was two villages past and there shouldn’t be any Sisters at this establishment. Two different persons with the same lust? Possible, but. 

He has never felt anything like this. The intensity is only possible coming from someone who holds him very close to their heart. 

Again he looks at Geralt, and again he dismisses it. Oh but he can dream. 

“I’m fine,” he pastes a smile to his face. “Just a bit tired … just … thrown off balance. Though I dear say the squeaking put a new spin on the performance.” 

“Improved it, I’d say,” Geralt responds dryly, though the concern doesn’t leave his eyes as they follow Jaskier around the room. 

–

Jaskier is sleeping, half-dozing, and. 

He is being fucked. 

His hands are bound above his head, the gag in his mouth wet through with drool. He can do nothing but take it, sobbing as he begs for release. He doesn’t even know who’s fucking him, but it doesn’t matter. This stranger has a thick, wonderful cock that he’s using to fuck Jaskier into the mattress, all the while his tongue is sliding, hot and wet over Jaskier’s bare chest, alternating tender kisses and sharp bites onto his swollen, sensitive nipples. 

Jaskier groans behind his gag, his thighs twitching as his neglected cock slaps against his belly. He’s writhing, horny and helpless, begging with muffled little cries. Oh if he could just get some _friction_ -

–

Jaskier jolts out of bed. He’s panting, _excruciatingly_ hard, his night clothes, still in place, are soaked through with sweat. 

Beside him, Geralt twitches awake.

“What is it?” he asks, his voice gravely from sleep. His hand had snapped to his sword, but is now drawing away as he accesses there is no threat. Geralt looks aggravated as he pushes to a seated position, turning his eyes to Jaskier. 

Jaskier, whose gaze is focused suddenly on the hard bulge in the front of Geralt’s smalls. 

“You!” he says accusatorially. 

Geralt flinches. “What?” 

“You!” Jaskier pushes Geralt into the pillows, moving to straddle his lap. “You’ve been … _fucking_ -” 

The expression on Geralt’s face shifts from confusion to alarm to confused, alarmed arousal as Jaskier grinds his ass down on Geralt’s hard cock. Oh Melitele his _cock_. 

“You’ve been fucking me in your head, haven’t you?” Jaskier shucks his smalls clumsily, almost kneeing Geralt in the jaw. For his part, Geralt seems to be scrambling as well, hauling Jaskier against him with one hand as he fishes his cock free with the other. 

“Yes, _fuck_ , but I didn’t think-” Geralt groans as Jaskier bites the side of his neck.

Didn’t think he’d find out? Didn’t think he’d reciprocate? Jaskier pushes those thoughts from his mind, desperate to get _off_. 

They have no oil. They’ve prepared for this not at all. They rut against each other like desperate animals, like horny schoolboys who just learned how to use their cocks. Even their kisses are sloppy, needy things, though after Jaskier comes with a sharp cry and Geralt follows with his teeth buried in Jaskier’s shoulder, their mouths find each other again and this time, their kisses are tender, and strangely sweet, strangely tentative considering what had just transpired, the evidence of which cools between their bodies. 

–

Jaskier smiles like a well-fed cat over breakfast, and Geralt can hardly look him in the eye without feeling as if steam might curl from his ears. 

“You’re pretty kinky, you know,” Jaskier says, pushing a bite of honeyed fruit towards Geralt’s mouth, which he bats away, embarrassed. “The Temple of Melitele, really? What about that moment in particular made you decide, hm, I think I’ll start having lascivious daydreams about my dearest, most regrettably platonic friend?” 

“I didn’t _start_ -” Geralt says, then snaps his mouth closed as Jaskier’s grin broadens. 

“For a while now, then?” Jaskier trills, his eyes sparkling. “Tell me please, each and every one. And don’t you _dare_ skimp on the detail-” 

“Don’t you find it strange?” Geralt mutters hurriedly. “You still don’t feel anything else from me, do you?”

Jaskier pauses, then after a beat says, “nope. Not a thing. What are you projecting towards me? Adoration, I hope.”

“Irritation, mostly,” Geralt grunts into his ale. 

“Well, well,” Jaskier says happily, “no need to worry then.” He digs into his breakfast with gusto, wagging his finger at Geralt with a mouthful of sausage. “Just none of this business during performances, you hear? This is our _livelihood_ , dear heart. All other times are fair game.”

Geralt sometimes worries that he has fallen in love with a very careless man, but then Jaskier bumps their knees warmly under the table, Geralt reaches over to tangle their fingers together, and they finish their breakfast peacefully under the sun. 

**Author's Note:**

> my [tumblr](https://greyduckgreygoose.tumblr.com/tagged/myfic)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Impressions](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29824266) by [SpiralsInTime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpiralsInTime/pseuds/SpiralsInTime)




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